Condolences
by Primadonna
Summary: FINISHED!Spike's reaction to the death of the Slayer before Buffy, circa October 1994. He's told something he doesn't want to hear...
1. The Slayer is Dead

Title: Condolences  
  
Author: Primadonna  
  
Rating: Let's go with R- As my story progresses and Spike gets exceedingly drunk his verbal skills deteriorate. There also may be some really bloody and violent referneces for fun, and Dru snogging because that always seemed to put Spike in a good mood.  
  
Summary: The Slayer before Buffy dies (this would be when Buffy's called, except of course Spike doesn't know). Spike's reaction- not what you'd expect, eh?  
  
Pairings: I am 100% a Buffy-Spike 'shipper, believe me, but we need to remember that he was with Drusilla for what, a 100 years? And, he didn't even know Buffy (also, take into consideration that whole period where he tried to kill her and her friends…)  
  
Comment: I just realized this: Why is Spike always picked on? First he was a total (endearing) nerd, then he was pretty much used by Dru, then he was in a wheelchair ("Sit-'n'-Spin", Angelus called him) and then he got the chip!!!! Poor luv.  
  
WRITE AND REVIEW!!!!!!! If you read it and don't like it, at least tell me so that I can improve, k? And if you do like it, shower me with praise. I'm not Primadonna simply because I like the name. Thanks. Now, enjoy.  
  
  
  
October 1994  
  
"Bloody Hell!!" I moaned painfully. I looked at the cards that lay on the table in front of Drusilla, and frowned to myself. So, the rumours were true, said so as plainly. Strength, Death, and the High Priestess, staring back at me, mocking me.  
  
The Slayer was dead. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths my lungs couldn't feel.  
  
Drake- possibly Dan, or Dean, or some other poofter name- came down into the cellar just then. "M-Master Spike?" He stammered, remaining halfway up the stairs between the door and me, as if afraid to come any closer.  
  
I impatiently waved him down, already knowing what he was going to tell me.  
  
"Just Spike, mate, for the last-" I picked up a chair and slammed it against the heavy oak table, "bleedin' time. All right?" He nodded, then swallowed, eyeing the stake I had fashioned in my hand. He was so scared I'm sure he was going to wet his pants. But he didn't, the boy had a little dignity left in him. He was a total ball-less wanker, but that was the way you get some minions. Smart ones that can help you out, but with no dreams in their head of knocking you out. Ones who did stand up, you had to kill as an example, no matter how much you admire them.  
  
I waited for him to continue, already knowing what this was about. "The Slayer, she- she was killed by a M'Fashnik demon in Barcelona this morning. Probably around 2 or 3, the time of Drusilla's vision." Dru looked up just then, her eyes glassy after reading her tarots as they always were. Like a drug trip, except stronger.  
  
She trained her stare on the boy. "Darry." The minion, presumably Darry, shifted on the balls of his feet. Dru scared him more than me. Smart lad.  
  
"Come here." She beckoned him forward with an elegant stir of her wrist. She continued the motion until he was beside her, within a few inches. He was completely charmed, and only half was magic. The rest was her.  
  
"Now," she began in a prim voice, "you've made my Spike sad." Darry nodded. "Say you're sorry." I gave a tight-lipped smile, just waiting to pounce. Dru was setting me up to let go of a little of my frustration.  
  
Darry knew he was in the middle of a trap. He looked from me to her, his eyes darting back and forth as if in a game of tennis. Or Pong. I always fancied that game.  
  
"I-I- M-mas- Spike!! Just Spike!!!- I am ter-ter-very sorry, I…" He grimaced, at a loss for words. I couldn't do it. I raised my hand to stop him. "Get the hell out. Now." I spoke quietly, and wasn't sure he heard me as he stayed rooted onto place, then suddenly he was halfway up the stairs. I gave a low chuckle after him; Darry wouldn't be back.  
  
I kept my eyes trained on the stairs, and heard Drusilla get up from the table. Her dress rustled around her, silk whispering over the concrete floor as she danced lazily towards me.  
  
"She didn't even have a chance to scream," she sing-songed, "And now the ground is going to eat her up." I knew who she was talking about.  
  
"Ducks, I'm going out for a bite to eat. I'll bring you back someone." I spoke tenderly to her, running my fingers across her temples. She nodded, then went to play with Miss Edith. Her favourite doll, and her only reminder of life before becoming a vampire. Most changed found it disturbing, but I understood the importance of her connection.  
  
I made my way up the staircase and through the empty manor. We could have lived in the house- we had even bought it legitimately, this time- but Dru hated being out in the open, or what she considered unprotected, ever since Prague. I always tried to convince her that we were safe, moving her to gorgeous houses with rooms I just knew she would want to inhabit, but she insisted. So the two of us lived in the cellar.  
  
I walked out the open door (I really did put the fear of God into Darry) and out into the early New Orleans evening. There was light over the horizon, a soft glow light enough to be called late afternoon but still safe for me to enjoy it in indirect sunlight. I stepped over a pile of ashes just outside of the garden's gate.  
  
***  
  
I made my way towards the demon district, not surprised to hear loud carousing, vampires and chaos demons celebrating in harmony over the death of their comon enemy. A Vantlar demon patted me good naturedly on the shoulder and I turned back to him, vamping out. I growled low in my throat. He gave me an odd look, then seemed to have realized who I was because his expression sobered.  
  
"Hey, I'm sorry man, better luck next time," he shook his head. He then turned from me, yelling across the street to a M'Fashnik demon, "Hey!! I heard the guy was your cousin!! Say congrats for me!"  
  
Moodily I reached my favourite bar, a place that was usually that showed some class. Karloff's. I sat at the end of the bar, farthest from the door. The jukebox in the centre of the room was playing some crappy Beatles hit. Nope, then it changed to "Copacabana". Like I bleedin' well needed this.  
  
I glared in the direction of the music, where a small slimy demon was feeding the jukebox with what must have been a dozen quarters.  
  
"D'you think you could turn off the FUCKIN' BARRY MANILOW?!?!!?" The demon must have been of the exceptionally dim variety, as he did little more than blink at me. His companion, a Fyarl demon, must have known I was about ready to resort to violence as he reached behind the machine and unplugged it. He quickly ushered his friend outside. Dammit. I needed blood.  
  
Fine, I thought to myself, with everyone doing all they could to bne on my best side or ignoring me all together, I'd just drink myself into a stupor wallow in a little self pity about the one that got away, and then drag my sorry ass home to Dru before I fried.  
  
A vamp came up behind me, clamping his hand on my shoulder. Before I could make a snarky comment, he yelled to the bartender "Can we get William the Bloody whatever he wants down here? On me." More than a few heads turned in my direction, just realizing who I was. A moment of silence seemed to hang in the air for the slayer of two slayers, especially appropriate this particular evening.  
  
The vampire sat down beside me and introduced himself as Michael. "A pleasure to meet you, sir," he stated as he shook my hand vigorously.  
  
I raised my eyebrow in surprise. "You can't be turned more than three years. How d'you know who I am?"  
  
He shrugged slightly, "I was turned two years ago. My sire was a big, big fan of yours, sir. He kept newspapers and clippings on your signature work."  
  
"Is that so?" The bartender slapped down two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel's. A good man, that Boris. I've frequented many a bar, Human and otherwise, and Krloff's was by far my favourite. And yes, it is Boris Karloff, for those of the informed, the star of the original Mummy. He's actually a vampire, one of the oldest I've met at 800 years old. He used to be known for one of the most violent bloodlusts in demon history, until he fell in love with a human girl and mellowed out about a 150 years ago. He loved acting, he told me once, because that was what his love had done. He was on a 75 year hiatus because he figured people would become suspicious if their favourite actor never aged. I told him he gave people too much credit. Anyway, that hiatus was why he opened many a business venture, and why he ran this bar. Sort of a hobby of sorts for him.  
  
"And where's the lovely Drusilla this evening?" Boris asked as he poured two shots, sliding one in front of both myself and my new chum Michael.  
  
I downed my shot. "She had a nasty vision, decided to stay at home and play with Ms. Edith." Boris gave a short barking laugh as he began to pour Jack Daniels.  
  
"I knew if it pertained to the Slayer you'd hear about it first." He left the bottle with me as he moved on to another customer. This was a signal that he wasn't finished talking. I rolled my eyes despite the fact (or maybe because) I couldn't help smiling. As the eldest of all who ever entered his bar, Boris felt it was his duty to bestow advice on us as greatly and as frequently possible. Wonder what little gem he'd pass along today?  
  
  
  
TBC- More written, just testing out my audience…. Either that, or I'm too lazy to type. REVIEW if you want more. 


	2. Frank

I turned to Michael. The boy still hadn't touched the alcohol in front of him. He followed my gaze and shrugged, "My alcohol tolerance isn't very high, so I don't drink."  
  
I just shook my head and reached for his shot glass. "Guess you won't mind, then."  
  
"It's a real shame you didn't get to the Slayer. You would've easily bagged your third."  
  
"Bagged? I inquired, unfamiliar with the term.  
  
"Killed," Michael explained, "as in body-bagged."  
  
"Right. I'll have to use that then." Bagging a Slayer. I liked that expression.  
  
"Hey Spike. D'you hear about the Slayer? I heard it was bloody," A loud voice boomed from across the bar. I grinned.  
  
"Frank!! Get your corpse over here!" He ambled his 7'1" reptilian frame down the bar, looking even taller than usual underneath the low ceiling. Michael moved down one stool so that Frank could sit between us, however Frank managed that without breaking the stool- which he's done about four times I've been with him. Quite funny. There was this time me 'n him went to Boston Pizza when we were so loaded… forget it, just remind me to tell you about it later.  
  
Frank sat down ( Demon clubs must have stronger stools) and Boris slid a beer down to him. "Tell me what you know. I wasn't really patient enough for the details earlier." I offered him a cigarette and we both smoked in silence for a moment. I offered one to Michael, who politely declined.  
  
I looked the young vampire over. Too nice. Really, who turned him? Obviously someone who admired my style if he kept clippings. Sometimes vampires can't be blamed, just bad judgement on occasion. Michael didn't physically appear older than seventeen, with a neat buzz cut and crisp khakis. Had marine written all over him, as far as I knew of Marines. I wondered if his looks attracted victims? A nice, safe captain cardboard type that looked like he regularly walked grandmothers across the street? At least I had " bad ass" written all over me. Nope, you're always surprised by the nice boys.  
  
"Well, all I know is this," Frank started, clearing his throat. "There was supposed to be a nest of vamps, the newbie type, real clueless. So, she goes off on a routine kill and it turns out to be a sort of demon hostel, a place where all sorts crash. I stayed in one before, kinda like Woodstock…"  
  
"You were at Woodstock, too?" He nodded. "Bloody good show, wasn't it? Though I ended up fried on LSD the whole ruddin' time."  
  
"I thought you stayed away from the drugs ever since that opium incident with Beaudelaire?" Frank asked.  
  
"I didn't mean to. I snacked on a hippie." He nodded understandingly.  
  
"Anyway, about the Slayer. So she hits the hostel-den, full "guns blazing" like a Slayer does best, and there standing are four big demons. I'm talkin' the M'Fahnik was the baby of the bunch. I think they just let 'im finish her off at the end, she was such a wreck. Ripped her up real good, she was so unrecognizable the council had to take her fingerprints."  
  
I poured myself a fourth shot and downed it, feeling a little ill. "Y'know, that's the difference between our generation and the new, the amount of class." I pointed at Michael, "your generation has no respect for the good fight. There is a right way to kill a Slayer; not all artistic flair, yet not all mindless gang murder, only winning because on that particular day she can't get herself out from the ropes. No, the whole point in going against a Slayer is finding out who's better. Like a warrior's code, where both sides acknowledge that. Not like two Slayers ever have the chance to go against a demon." The alcohol was fast disappearing. 


	3. California

"How is it, gentlemen?" Boris pulled up a stool from his side of the bar. It was still busy, but his other bartender came to fill in for him. Must be hard to find staff willing to come in on the biggest night for the underworld.  
  
We all nodded thanks to Boris as he poured us some of his best scotch. It paid to be a frequent and favourite patron of his; even Michael accepted some.  
  
"Anyone hear anything about the new slayer?" I asked. "She must have been announced among the council hours ago at least."  
  
None of my companions knew, so I stood up to address the bar's patrons. Everyone immediately silenced. Someone had had balls to plug in the jukebox, and Louis Armstrong crooned "It's A Wonderful World." The irony of the song played for us that night was not lost on me.  
  
"Has anyone heard anything about the new Slayer? If you have, I want to talk to you. If I like what I hear, I'll reward you, even."  
  
I wasn't surprised when Will, Boris' part-time bartender, spoke up. A human in his late 20s, early 30s, it shocked up all when Boris had hired him just a short while ago. But he served his purposes, being able to go out in daylight and all without either bursting into flames or having to hide scales or webbed hands or the like.  
  
Looking at the man one immediately thought "rodent", with his small head and quickly receding hair line. While he possessed a twitchy nature it had little to do with fear of demons.  
  
So no, I wasn't surprised that Will had information for sale.  
  
I took a fistful of bills and laid it on the bar. I slapped Will's hand away as made a grab for the money.  
  
"Ow! What'd you do that for?" he whined. I raised an eyebrow and made a low growl sound in my throat. Not usually my style, but highly effective.  
  
"Right, I get ya. Information first, cash after. Smart. The slayer's in Cali."  
  
"California? No bleedin' way the PTB would have that sick of a sense of humour. The Council must have just died."  
  
"Some blonde from L.A. Supposed to be a hot little number." Again, Will thrust his greasy hand forward. I caught the stack before him and passed him half. Before he opened his mouth to object, I stated "There's no way in hell you expect me to pay that much for that measly amount of information."  
  
"But I swear I don't know anymore." His voice dropped a little more to escape the range of dozens of eavesdroppers. "No one does."  
  
"What do you mean, no one knows anything? The news is probably all over now." I had to speak a little bit louder as his hearing was nowhere near as atuned as mine. I inwardly cringed as I knew nearly every vampire in the place could pick up my end of the conversation. Will sounded damned secretive, so I'd be a little more so too.  
  
Frank patted me on the shoulder as he moved away to join some others he knew. He always got bored with this sort of thing.  
  
"What I mean is, SHE doesn't even know she's the slayer. There was a girl ahead of her that was trained to take the Spanish girl's place, in New Zealand, but she was killed in a car crash. You should know they don't train more than one girl at a time to be in line. As the New Zealand trainee was killed by natural causes, the council didn't know what to do." He paused. "They really had a lot of faith in the Slayer. Idiots. They did worse by her than any of her murderers. The slayer to them is just one of many on a list. To kill a slayer is almost holy to a vampire or demon, isn't it? I understand you killed two in your day."  
  
"Yeah," I nodded. I was glad Will pretty much held the same view as me; other demons must have thought I was a nut, sitting all dark-like. To tell you the truth, I think I was mourning a bit. Partly because I didn't do the killing myself, to "bag" a third slayer, and partly because I didn't kill her myself, as she would have had a right fair fight fitting of a warrior.  
  
"Who's the new watcher?"  
  
"Merrick."  
  
It was Boris who answered this time. "He's a tough son of a bitch, son. I'd steer clear of him unless it's absolutely necessary."  
  
"Never heard of him." I took a last drag on my smoke, then stubbed it out into the ashtray beside me.  
  
"His daughter was a slayer 'bout ten years ago. Wasn't incredible by any stretch of the imagination, died within her first year."  
  
"What are the chances of a Slayer having a father as a Watcher?" Michael asked rhetorically.  
  
"He was just made Watcher," Boris revealed. "He went renegade after the death of his daughter for a while- pretty good at it, too. Guess the Council figured it would be smarter to keep him on payroll and under their thumb."  
  
I summed up my situation: A new, renegade Watcher given charge of an untrained bimbo from California who had no clue vampires even existed before today. That is, if they even got around to telling her today. It was absolutely ridiculous and I told my companions so.  
  
The barkeep eyed me calmly. " One must always remember a Slayer's a Slayer."  
  
"Please, old man, it's been awhile since you've been anywhere near a Slayer. You're even wary of her Watcher." I managed to hold my tongue just before I called him 'defanged'. Just because a dog didn't bark didn't mean it couldn't bite. I would have loved to have fought him, but he was a good guy. And if I killed him rather than him killing me, it would have resulted in losing my favourite hangout, a place I was quite fond of. 


	4. Spike and Dru Forever

He knew I fought at least four Slayers and killed two. So why was he so antsy about some bimbo in California whose only experience with vampires involved Nick at Nite?  
  
"You know something I don't, don't you?" The bar had gotten increasingly loud as the eavesdroppers got bored with the turn of conversation. I had said it half-jokingly, but he gave me a guilty look before turning his back to wipe at a clean counter.  
  
"Boris?" I persisted. When he ignored me, I added, "I have all night. And if I'm here all night, that means I'll be here all day, too. And the next night. It'd be a vicious circle, my friend."  
  
I watched his profile carefully under heavy lidded eyes. His jaw clenched and unclenched, weighing his options carefully. He looked at me mildly pleadingly, but I just stared back.  
  
"All right everybody, we're closing early," he yelled, clapping his hands in short hard spurts. He shook a couple of drunks slumped over the bar, and repeated himself. The ones who didn't have tabs grudgingly paid their bills to Willy.  
  
Boris stood by the exit, ushering them out, smiling in an eerie mechanical way, so unlike his usually cheerfully manner.  
  
At the last one gone he locked the door and shut the blinds.  
  
"Willy, clean up quick then let yourself out," he barked. Will gave a mock salute and began collecting mugs and bottles around the room.  
  
Boris pushed me towards the back door that led to his quarters upstairs and the storage room. He stopped us just inside the doorway of the storeroom. I fit snugly between crates of beer stacked as high as my head. I realized with a sudden jolt of energy that if I were Boris and I intended to kill me I'd put me in the same spot, nearly impossible to manoeuvre around.  
  
Boris just looked tired.  
  
"What are you gonna do, kill me?" I dropped my eyes to his hands gripping my shoulders tightly. When I raised my head I vamped, showing him a wide toothy grin. "Well, on with it then," I prodded. I always was an impatient sort.  
  
"Listen to me William. Are you listening to me?" he asked. When I shook my head he sighed and loosened his hold. "'Cause I'll only tell you if you take me seriously."  
  
He continued, "If you had any sense in your head, William, you would stay away from California, as far away as you can. It will mean the end of you and Drusilla," he grunted. A trace of his long discarded accent crept in, coating the edges of his words. He took a few steps back and sat on a crate. I did the same, carefully weighing his words before opening my mouth.  
  
"How'd you know this then, mate?" I asked neutrally. I lit a cigarette, about my fiftieth of the day. Not the brightest thing to do I suppose, when one is surrounded by hundreds of gallons of alcohol. Well, I thought to myself, if it were to be the end of Dru 'n me in La La Land I may as well take up sunbathing.  
  
"I have a bit of the sight- nothing extraordinary, just enough to have gotten a jolt when the Slayer died. That's how I got Will to come in, called him before he heard about it." He paused as if debating how much to tell me, knowing he had to tell me something.  
  
"I called in a friend 'o mine, a very experienced seer, and asked about the replacement. William, don't go to California," he repeated.  
  
"What'd he tell you?"  
  
"If you love Drusilla you wouldn't go. Nay, if you want to keep loving Drusilla you wouldn't go."  
  
"She's gonna stake us good and proper, right. Tell me how, and we can avoid the whole ugly mess, even work it to our advantage. Besides, when have you ever seen me back away from a good fight?"  
  
He made a small frustrated noise. "No you fool. Not the end of Spike, not the end of Drusilla. The end of Spike and Drusilla."  
  
As soon as I got the gist of what he was saying I had my hand on his throat lightning quick. "Are you saying we're going to break it off? We've been together nearly 120 years, mate. That's not just any feat, you know."  
  
"I know that." He had no problem speaking, the danger of my hand on his throat being beheading rather than strangulation. "Wait till you hear the two other pieces of news I have for you."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Angelus will betray you-"  
  
"Since when's that new, the bugger."  
  
"- And you'll fall in love with the Slayer."  
  
It was one of the few moments of my life where I was absolutely still while awake. Frozen in place, silent in both voice and thought.  
  
"Pardon?" I said quietly. "Run that by my again."  
  
"The Slayer. You will fall in love with the Slayer in California."  
  
Sharp intake of breath. My ribs hurt.  
  
"No." "No?" "No."  
  
No.  
  
Moment of Silence.  
  
"This seers never been wrong before."  
  
"He's wrong."  
  
More silence.  
  
"What exactly did he tell you?"  
  
"Not much," Boris conceded, "doesn't see any great scene or picture in his head or anything showy like that. He just knows things, like how we know today is Wednesday and where we live. Pieces of information clustering his brain."  
  
"He's wrong."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
With that I slammed out of there, all the noise and growls more for show rather than actually giving a fuck. I didn't even care Will had been listening at the door.  
  
Just knows. pieces of information cluttering his brain.  
  
As I walked home in the pre-dawn hours of New Orleans I realized I should have gotten the seers name. No. It didn't matter.  
  
"Dru? Dru baby, I'm back." I pushed the old man I'd grabbed from the park ahead of me down the stairs. "Got you someone to eat. Not to our usual liking, but it'll do in a pinch."  
  
She wandered out languorously, coming from the room she'd been playing in when I'd left hours ago.  
  
"Dirty man," he sing-songed, scrunching up her nose in dislike, then grinning wildly. "My flowers want a taste, Spike. I think I'll put it in a cup. I'll save some and give it to my garden. I'll make my plants bleed."  
  
She continued to talk to her meal in a comforting voice, chit-chatting about nothing as she reached for a knife. He didn't cry out as she cut off two fingers, just flinched a little. I had drained him just enough to keep him quiet, as I knew Dru's games. I had a headache.  
  
Where did he get off telling me that we'd break up because of some pretty little chit in California? A Slayer, no less?  
  
Drusilla got bored of her game, and simply tore out her meal's throat. She watched the blood glisten, then when she couldn't hold back any longer lapped it up greedily.  
  
Sudenly more terrified of what Boris had said, I had a sudden need to be touching Dru. I clutched her waist from behind and leaned over and whispered in her ear about the flowers as she fed.  
  
When her appetite was sated she purred low in her throat, sending her, and thus my, body into a soft vibration.  
  
"My poor boy," Dru said, putting her head back so that it rested on my shoulder.  
  
"Yeah, should've been my kill," I answered, kissing her neck.  
  
"No, not that one; the one in California." She shivered.  
  
I stopped sucking on her earlobe. "California, luv? Don't think I follow."  
  
"Tut, tut, the man told you, didn't he? The rat," she answered. She lolled her head from side to side, dancing to a favourite song in her head.  
  
I knew she was talking about Will.  
  
"Don't worry, my sunshine," she continued, "you'll be there when they put her in the ground, I saw it."  
  
Gaining reassurance by this, that everything was going to be all right, a spark of hope lit in me like wildfire.  
  
I pushed the remains of our dinner off the table, where Dru and I made love. It had an element of surety that had only been present once before, in China, nearly 100 years before. In the aftermath, with her spooned against me, she told me we would go find her. I didn't even pretend to not know who she was talking about.  
  
"Let's give it a few years, luv," I told her simply. "We'll see if she's even worth killing, then."  
  
I hoped that she'd die before then. 


End file.
